we bloom

the language of rain

there was a woman who pronounced herself – I am a multitude.
true said for the many of us here.

rain speaks with many tongues.

where does a circle start.   understand.
there’s a trickle coming from the arroyo wall,

climb down from the adobe home, empty plastic
bottles in hand, fill them full, not so light climbing
back up again.   yes, respect for water.

fresh running creek from mountain snow,

cold, shining wet, pure enough, cup your hands,
drink.   valley walls, hundreds times taller than me.
a long walk, thirsted, water satisfied.

silent white geese gliding down to land,

only the sound of air on feathers, where land is a lake,
come to rest.   we say a flock.    we say float.

land breathes, deep and shallow, both,

land is filled with rain, resting, like geese I suppose
moving up, rising high, eager for thirst to return.

ocean too, adores gravity, yet loves the sky,

here, my body is given up to you.   drink of me.
granting every wish of water circling home again,
rise, fly, soar, swim in heaven’s blue, turning round
like an ocean in the sky.

clouds.   more than counting understands.
now rain becomes a bloom on the mountainside.

        purpose well spent.    circular.
sometimes it’s hard to be small when the world is so big.

        thank god, rain speaks to all of us.
image:   Please expand this image to it’s very most full size.
                More than first meets the casual gaze.   Promise.   see the people?
photograph of the Sonoran Desert in Southern California by Cindy Knoke
Please visit and follow her website.   Cindy is a quietly gifted observer and photographer.   She seems able to see and show the nature of nature.

with thanks also to this season’s uncharacteristic generous rains.
image used with her kind permission

thirty poems number twenty nine

sheltering     this pacific grace
I was here.   when the storm arrived.   I was here.

not long walking here.   alone.   well, not alone.   wind touching me.

making me more real, more like the found ocean inside of me.

each wave, a horse, white mane painted face.   continuous.

best shelter is a roof, no walls.   company needs enter unafraid.

no judgment cast.   only rain on my face.

half way back to being a fish

some say we came from sea onto land,
some went back again.

but that’s not what I mean.

is this really my home
Yes, water says.

did I forget.

I still see me inside as when I was a child,
body changes but essence stays the same.
you know.

why then don’t I see me when I was a fish.

but that’s not what I mean either.

do fish write?   I don’t know.

there’s this place.   first as child, then adult.   same me.
I looked from above, from a stone-hand shoreline cliff.
the green sea water toes below, wiggling between the
rocks.   fish and seaweed moving in their liquid sky.
stars too, embracing sea hewn stone shoulders.
   don’t touch.

and I was thinking, that’s where I’d like to be.

and being honest, true to say – I was afraid.   some.

I am some afraid right now.   sixty years farther on.
I am afraid.

but not all.   and not the point either.
I am the poem that my life is.
that’s the meaning of what I mean.   are we following.
we keep looking.   looking.

are you my home.   I want to see you that way.   I want
your scent to sit like kin right next to me.   I’ll know
when you do.
land itself does not breathe
ocean does nothing other than breathe

with our lives we carry that breath onto land.
unspoken here.   mother.   there you are.

and here, here’s the middle part.   one foot in,
the other foot out.   circles inside circles.

you, you know this part.   a fish out of water.

standing on your own two good feet.

as you were asked, you answered.   whether
or not you know.   you do.   you’re doing it
right now.   even while you hold your breath.

here’s what ocean says to me

memories, they only happen in one place.   now.
contemplation brings consequences.
all the mistakes I have made.   then moments
when I leaned the right way.   Light moves like water does.
the seagulls are flying back.   morning comes.   I find
comfort in writing you.   I asked a question once,
are poems real.

when you speak to me, I answer, Yes.

    if you are willing to turn your back on the Sun
    everything else is illuminated.

          Derek DelGaudio

If you want to see a dim star, then
look just to the side of where you think it is.
       eyes work like that.

we carry the ocean inside us.   tall mountains
reside inside the sea where we dangle our feet.

        breathe, make clouds.

        breathe, fill the ocean, far.

I am a forgotten fish.   do I end where I begin.

I am a billion bubbles, and I know how to find your toes.
I am a billion bubbles, blinking.   blinking awake.

moving east.   moving west.   I find you inside this tide.

be with me,   water speaks
header image:   New Wave #4, Gavin Libotte
used with his kind permission.   Please do visit his photography website.
I felt kinship with this amazing image.   It told a story, how I feel two ways, becoming one.
     insta.   @gavinlibottephotography
     web.    Gavin Libotte Photography

other image references:  (previously used)
Ritual Procession (image 04), Judith Wasserman 1977
Contemplation/Tidelands (image 12), Maureen J Haldeman

witness, because I do

          because I see myself in you

maybe one third at most the body mass of mother seal.

there beside her young calf.   even in the farther reach

of wave on shoreline sand, water rolls and shoves, curls

young body as want to be.   calf wriggles back into some

semblance of relative shape with mother seal.   another

pause till the next hand of sea carries calf.   given up,

surrendered, turned into Bay, begins to swim away.

mother knows, not indifferent.   she too turns, swims.

shadows in water blur deep departure.
no dumb beast I witness here.   what I see is simply

mother and child.
love expressed as sea and tide does ask of us.
what shore does my life straddle.
MBA webcam views of Monterey Bay used with permission.
please visit and/or support the Monterey Bay Aquarium.   
they make the ocean more alive.   us too.


water from the Grotto at Lourdes in France

this water is blessed, twice

this water is real.   no doubt about feeling wet.

by comparison, are words more real, more

than mere ghosts of ink on paper, or less,

more electrical bonds, no matter how

do they make a difference.   is that the measuring

stick.   this bottle is five inches tall

is that tall enough for a miracle?

how tall are you

From February 11 to July 16, 1858, Saint Bernadette Soubirous met the Blessed Virgin Mary eighteen times at the Grotto at Lourdes, France. Despite the Church’s and town’s growing hesitation surrounding the Grotto’s apparitions and cures, an ecclesiastical committee declared the apparition as authentic in 1860.

image:   Wikipedia   © José Luiz Bernardes Ribeiro / CC BY-SA 3.0

remember, nowhere do I say what to believe.      did you see the elephant

looking which way to see the sea

No Matter What

no matter what, I’m aligned with place.   meaning
that’s how I describe every grain of my self.
       do you?

every wrinkle, each eager wave following wind.
here, it curls into my lap.   history remembers.
       I smile, satisfied.

details draw me closer.   more defined by shape
and shadow swimming near.   honey eyed.
       palms open twice.

       I never tire of seeing you.

yea, you see, a place can be a person too.
when was a last time you let your mind wander.
being lost is on the path toward being known.
breath out, that’s where the universe goes
MBA webcam views of Monterey Bay used with permission.
please visit and/or support the Monterey Bay Aquarium.   
they make the ocean more alive.   us too.

please do enlarge the header image.   else miss seeing what’s to see.



we, drift in the universe.
we, are gathered into a raft.

if forever is a question, bouyancy
        is the answer we crafted in nets.


many’s the day that’s all that remained.
the beauty of freedom is willingness
        to surrender singular experience.

each moment being the center of forever’s
reaching arms.   ordinary is a grace.

some ocean currents are made by me.
although I prefer her more intimate name.

I am not everything.   but
I am part of everything.   my toes included.
        wet means we are near.

gravity will hold us in her arms.

        whisper to me.   listening.

image:   just on the edge of being offshore, sea otters like to congregate into a larger communal gathering.   we call these rafts.   often they keep their place using the long reaching amber seaweed fronds anchored to the seabed floor, then wrapped around their bodies.

MBA webcam views of Monterey Bay used with permission.
please visit and/or support the Monterey Bay Aquarium.   
they make the ocean more alive.   us too.

please do enlarge the header image.


my morning window

if I had one place to be forever, this is that place.     yes, just like this.
I may be seven hundred miles measured reach away these days, but if you asked me please, quietly, whisper in my ear, what place is first home for my heart.   this is what you’d hear.   every salty wave, every scrap of seaweed riding blue swells, every distant cloud, every grey sky, every critter swimming to my eye, every morning truck climbing up the hill afore the town awakes, except for me.   I made it through the dark to be here inside first Light.

I’ve no desire to leave.   my only wish would be having you beside me here.

no such thing as too much.
MBA webcam views of Monterey Bay used with permission.
please visit and/or support the Monterey Bay Aquarium.   
they make the ocean more alive.   us too.

please do enlarge the header image.


I do the best I can, double spaced

living with the bay

look.   otters I’ve seen, swimming the bay.

who will remember for me when I walk away.

out the window each day.   more fresh.

I remember me.   maybe that was my job all along.
I likely see what you don’t see.   an easy eye.

I know which dark spots to follow on.   where an otter swims.

they don’t need me holding them up.   but I do, anyway.
I feel like being underwater.   but the water can’t be seen.

just me, just some sand.   feet kissing where it’s wet.
write that in the sand.   please.
MBA webcam views of Monterey Bay used with permission.
please visit and/or support the Monterey Bay Aquarium.   
they make the ocean more alive.   us too.

please do enlarge the header image.

water is my hand

what’s it like being water.

       remember, no question marks.

not water in a glass.   not coming out of a faucet.
not in a bottle, no matter the shape.

something free.   that’s the water I want to be.

looking out a window, there’s Monterey Bay.

       that would be more than fine.

       that would be a relationship to last for life.

       fish & squid & crabs, some whales too.

       heaven beneath our feet.   water is.

feeling, tasting, embracing every thirst,
they’d find me close in, your shoreline found,

       the edge of being, adored.

in-between your toes.   don’t be shy.
there was a man I knew, no, more than that.
       he sang a song.

       it became my own, became clay in my hands.

       there’s one line, the answer to pain is love.

today that feels hard to accept.   my fault

I think not being open for love to enter me.

       do you notice, pain only begins from inside.

come water waves, wash into me.   my prayer.

and now I remember another man who taught me prayer
       with his dying breaths.

       he’s now gone, but prayers remain.
how much ocean is in a spoon.   (a question, yes)
I can’t write poems any more.

this isn’t me writing this.   if words appear, don’t blame me.

if I can become empty enough, maybe ocean will arrive.

I pray to be a better bowl.

MBA webcam views of Monterey Bay used with permission.
please visit and/or support the Monterey Bay Aquarium.   
they make the ocean more alive.   us too.

please do enlarge the header image.